


long i stood and looked down one

by chameleonchanging



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, this entire thing is very hypothetical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-11 06:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleonchanging/pseuds/chameleonchanging
Summary: 1. Plo decides not to take a seat on the Council. Some things change.2. Wolffe’s got his eyes on Marshal Commander, and nothing is going to stop him from earning his dots.





	1. the road not taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plo, in a universe where he was a little more stubborn.

Plo, in the-universe-as-we-know-it, sets aside his stubborn nature and takes a seat on the Council to fulfill his master Tyvokka’s wish.

In a universe just adjacent, his adamant belief that he is unsuited for Council leadership wins out. He doesn’t win that argument entirely - Qui-Gon also remains unseated, and that whole business with Obi-Wan and Anakin goes more or less the way it does - but he enters the Clone Wars a Jedi Master and no more.

Wolffe is still the one to drag him from the sands of the arena, is still of the opinion that the Jedi have no business pretending they know anything about war. He still clocks Plo a good one the first time they spar, when they’re still trying to figure out how they’re supposed to fit together, one of them wanting nothing to do with the 104th, the other dangerously possessive of the same, and both stuck sharing with each other. But here, the 104th is under someone else’s System Army (and wouldn’t that make more sense than having the 104th popping in and out of adventures and disasters as convenient?) and Wolffe has a bit more room for promotion. Plo is stubborn, remember, and he Does Not Want That Chair and Does Not Want An Army. Maybe they end up in the odd position where who ranks whom is a matter of perspective, squinting, and squiggly diagrammed hierarchy charts.

Maybe it’s his duties on the Council that teach Plo moderation and measure. Imagine him with all the training of a Jedi Master and all the training of a Baran Do Sage, and underlying it all the conviction that there is a right and a wrong. He is an adult, and so that core is tempered by reality, but in this universe he does not bear the responsibility of an entire Order of children whose futures he must safeguard. He has had the luxury to be more rigid in his beliefs. If he is stubborn, he will be the only one to suffer the consequences - until he isn’t, and he has a battalion of troopers and their aggrieved Commander (who, depending on what point in the war we’re talking about, may or may not be his superior officer) to consider.

Think about the possibilities.

Imagine this Plo sent to Umbara, where some of the faces are shuffled around but too many are the same. Imagine the core of him freezing and becoming brittle at the knowledge that some of the men he’s killed were his own. His brothers, Wolffe’s brothers - hell, if not for the yellow of his lightsaber, Wolffe might have gunned him down in the ambush and then shot himself too, unable to forgive himself for being tricked. There is a right and a wrong, and Pong Krell is Wrong. Imagine the fight that happens, a Besalisk with two lightstaffs and four blades against a Kel Dor who is rumored to have once bested the Grandmaster himself. There is no hate in Plo’s heart when he cuts Krell down, just the sureness that it needed to be done. And for the sake of this experiment, imagine the aftermath that Wolffe has to deal with; a minor General maybe technically under his command has murdered another minor General for no apparent reason (because this is a Plo whose impulse control never quite reached full maturity, and he’s learned to be fine with whatever Consequences may follow) and who won’t back down from _I’m not sorry and I’d do it again even though it’s treason._ It might break Wolffe’s heart to carry out that sentence.

Or maybe this Plo doesn’t go to Umbara. Maybe it’s Cholganna instead, and this time he doesn’t get to keep the baby nexu - and then Coruscant, where he doesn’t merit a constant guard by rank but gets a Commander-shaped shadow anyway, and then a dozen other planets where he’s a thorn in the Separatists’ sides and a thorn in Palpatine’s also. This Plo had a lot of Council-free time; maybe he worked as a liaison to the Senate for a few years and made a nuisance of himself with his notions of justice. Maybe he goes on getting in the way of industry and Empire, and when the Order comes down there are a few extra instructions included. Or maybe there didn’t need to be; Wolffe is a hunter and a man of strong emotions, and a Jedi on the ground compromised by attachment doesn’t need to be shot down when a vibroblade will do as well.

See, that whole business with Anakin happens the way it did, and so the Order was going down in flames anyway. Plo being a Councilor or not was never going to change any of that. The Council exists to guide the Order, and the Order exists to protect the Force-Sensitive from a galaxy that would tear them all to shreds one by one if given half a chance. The contents of the Council and the choices available to it have no bearing on each other; one single Jedi was never going to divert destiny by refusing to sit. But the middle of the story for that one single Jedi -

Imagine a planet hidden between two black holes, and a shuttle landing for a resupply of atmosphere cylinders and oxygen filters. Plo’s blood is singing for the challenge of navigating such a narrow path. He swivels in his seat to face Wolffe.

This is one of the rare moments when they are matched in rank, Plo stubbornly refusing promotion and Wolffe on his way up to Marshal, and it feels like permission for Wolffe to curl his fingers around the back of Plo’s skull and press their foreheads together. In any universe, Wolffe will take what he wants; that is his nature. In this universe, Plo rises to meet him, feeling the steady beat of Wolffe’s heart under his palm, laughing when he is pressed against the shuttle hull, and returning the kiss in kind.


	2. non-stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolffe is a Battalion Commander with his eyes on Marshal, and nothing is going to stop him getting what he wants.

In this universe, Wolffe derives his authority from Plo. Everyone knows his unit is Plo’s favorite, and when he speaks it can be assumed he does so on Plo’s behalf. He doesn’t need a Corp when he has a Councilor.

In the universe next door, Wolffe claws his way up to Marshal Commander, and he drags Plo up the ladder with him. Plo is a Jedi still, and that lends him a measure of autonomy, but he’s just a Master. He’s trained a few Padawans, undertaken more than a few missions, but so have many, many others. The Council sends him to Wolffe’s 104th and he stays there, except for a few instances of turning tail and vanishing at the first whiff of suspicion that someone might have ideas about quadrupling the size of his command.

Wolffe, though. Wolffe is a Battalion Commander with his eyes on Marshal, and nothing short of death is going to stop him from earning his dots. He is very, very good at what he does, and the Above take notice as appropriate. When Regimental Commander Saks is requested for a hush-hush assignment, he selects Wolffe to take his place.

It’s been long enough that _of course_  Wolffe goes to Plo with the news first. He’s comfortable preening over it, and Plo is comfortable letting his tusks twitch under his filter in quiet pleasure and offering his congratulations. They share a meal and a laugh over the impending convolution of the chain of command. 

(Plo, see, is a Master, which makes him a General, which means he’s supposed to be leading a legion at least. Seniority in the Order suggests he would be head of a corp. How he ended up occupying a junior Padawan’s position is beyond anyone’s comprehension. So he’s officially head of the 104th and backed up by a Battalion Commander-who-won’t-be-Wolffe, and Wolffe is Regimental Commander overseeing four battalions (sans Jedi Commander, because nobody wants to throw in the issue of a Padawan giving a Master his marching orders) including Plo and the 104th, which makes him higher up on the chain except that Plo is still technically a General and - look, we could go in circles forever, it’s all complicated. Suffice it to say Plo smiles, nods, and does as he’s told, and Wolffe does his best not to think too hard about giving orders to his boss.

Anyway.)

There’s a couple interesting weeks while they adjust to the state of things, but really aside from the increased load of paperwork Wolffe gets to do and directing larger battles from a slightly higher vantage point, things are the same. There’s still evenings in the command tent planning movements and covert kicking-each-other-under-the-table. The war goes on, and so does life. 

Wolffe gets himself a brigade after a time. There are a lot of troopers under him, and a number of Jedi too. Technically there’s another Jedi General he’s supposed to be working with, but he’s not going to just give up his Pack. They’re his. Plo is his. And it’s kinda funny to watch the confused squirming when Plo has to deliver a message to another Battalion Commander in his robes and does his _Senior Commander Wolffe said_  routine. Also having Plo on hand to run errands for him is viscerally satisfying, in a way that sending actual messengers isn’t. There’s some exploring to do there, he knows, but Plo and his blasted rules won’t let him before this whole abuse of power thing gets sorted out. A little longer - a few more months of catching himself staring after his _jetti_  and dreaming about crossing boundaries that look less firm by the day. It’s almost a relief when there’s some reorganization, his brigade expands into a legion, and he is finally, finally unquestionably not-under-Plo’s-command. 

There’s a lot of fun had afterwards. We don’t have to go into detail. Behind closed doors and all that. But that isn’t the end; Wolffe wants Marshal, remember, and he hasn’t got there yet. 

The 63rd Forward Corp is tasked with reclaiming a planet in the mid-Rim, and Wolffe’s legion assigned the business of establishing a defensible landing ground. In the two weeks before the assault, he sleeps poorly, running the simulations over and over again, hoping to find another option. There is none; someone is going to have to lead the way, and the only people he trusts to do the job right are the Pack. The survival rate for such a position is atrocious. Geonosis, Point Rain - the numbers speak for themselves, but if anyone can survive this and maximize the odds of success, it’s Plo. He cannot trade hundreds of brothers to spare one Jedi. When he lays out the plan in front of his officers, he meets Plo’s eyes through the goggles, drawing courage from him, and Plo nods and says _It will be done_. His pride in Wolffe is slim comfort.

Three weeks later, he is finally cleared to land. He steps off the shuttle into the encampment the Pack has set up, and it is Commander Abesh who greets him. If he asks the question and things are as he fears, he will be useless for the rest of the day. He allows Abesh to escort him around camp, taking reports and issuing orders, and when things are stable they walk to Medical.

Sergeant Catch looks up from wrapping a leg and hands his patient off to someone else. Abesh vanishes to give them privacy, and they duck into a tent filled with tanks. In the third tank from the right, Plo floats unconscious, stripped bare to allow the burns covering the right half of his body to heal. After they’d lost contact in the first week, he’d been caught in a blast while redirecting incoming fire.

And Wolffe knows this was bound to happen. His _jetti_ leads from the front and has for as long as Wolffe’s known him. There isn’t a danger he wouldn’t face for his men. All the same, the sight of him injured carrying out Wolffe’s will twists at his insides. It has never been so easy to understand attachment, staring up at Plo with one hand pressed against the tank.

He isn’t there when they pull Plo out. He’s halfway across the continent, dealing with a cluster that unexpectedly promoted a lot of people before they were ready, including Wolffe. On the grounds that he’s the only senior on-site with experience in mountainous terrain, he takes charge of the defense. It’s a testament to his skill and good fortune that they don’t end up besieged. He comes limping back into camp with parts of several legions trailing behind him, battered and bruised but gloriously alive with the Separatist flag in hand to boot. The oldest members of his Pack preceed him with the news.

It adds to his satisfaction to see Plo when he enters the command center unaccompanied. They’re working on something, probably logistics - Plo’s great with them and Wolffe hates them more than almost anything else - and Plo is leaning on the table, moving stiffly, bandages peeking out from under his armor, but he’s alive and in one piece.

Plo looks up, attuned as ever to Wolffe’s presence, and in a voice still hoarse but filled with pride, he calls the room to attention for his Marshal. Wolffe smiles, meets his eyes, and puts them at ease.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at ccinagalaxyfaraway@tumblr.com!


End file.
